What difference does it make?
by Kira Kissed Him
Summary: Every man has his secrets and Matsuda certainly has his. Although, he's not particularly sure what difference that makes.


**A/N** - Ah, I suppose this sprang upon me in the middle of the night with no direct reasoning or purpose fueling such. Beyond another deviously used song title. However, I felt the need to post it. This fan fiction mainly focuses on the role Matsuda has managed to abide by while in reality, his part in all aspects is so minor yet poignant. L & Light's romance however, will always, indefinitely exceed all others and this is my deprived way of trying to showcase such. /epic fail.

Please do leave me; comments, criticisms and whatever else. It is greatly appreciated and allows me to aspire to write more. Thank you. (:

**  
What difference does it make?**

He always had just been a distraction.  
The comic relief that would sputter out it's monologue every now and then in order to momentarily have it's presence regarded; and subsequently frowned upon.

It is an existence one is destined to live when surrounded by _them._  
He was meant to simply be the side attraction that would pale in comparison to the great spectacle, the main attraction and the epitome of all that was beautiful and composed of sole perfection in this world. Perhaps his over dramatic nature could overtake his whims but honestly, he wasn't there to think or do anything constructive.

He was simply there to be seen so perhaps you would miss the aura that practically overwhelmed his senses with it's near omnipotent presence. That of which was simultaneously beyond the comprehension of a simplistic man such as himself. One whom thrived on blind ambition, determination and a devotion that was solely composed of the miserable truth beyond worse realities.

It was all a stage for which they sat and commenced small talk; typed on their computers and continued the game, or rather the charade that he felt he had become entangled in. He was the amicable one, the kind one always necessary for when you were angry or upset and needed to manifest your hatred elsewhere. Significantly, his presence would be noticed in those trivial moments. Those of which were the ones where perhaps the gregarious eye would not take into consideration the glint that would resonate within an amber iris as it gazed upon an obsidian one. Fulfilling it's needed to compromise itself against the dark gaze that it would be met with for a fleeting moment when presumably no one saw.

No one did.

Except _him._

It wasn't fair.

He didn't want to see anymore.

He could feel it though; more than he could visibly see it. Feel the intensity for which it lingered on the allegedly demurely unsuspecting subject of the critical analysis that appeared to be searching for a reciprocation rather than anything else. He could practically sense the way the dark haired man, hair forever in a state of disarray would glance upward just so in the general proximity of his suspect. Of the way his expression would change for just a fleeting moment; so quick and subtle that he often times assumed it for an unnerving illusion of the mind. One that caused his heart to hammer around in his ears, and his blood literally thicken at the prospect of the implications. Of the mere ideal of that stare that would be lost after he dusted off his own lapses of judgment and pretended not to dwell on the reasoning behind that metallic chain. The one that caused his head to snap up at every possible excuse in order to regard his current devious observations. As he said, it was not fair.

Things for Matsuda were never fair, really.

Yet even still, when he laid in bed at night and gazed upon the ceiling he would ruminate over L and Light. Two being's of the same whole. Although, perhaps he was once again over dramatizing the situation but when one considered it objectively, when they actually saw rather than observed, they would know. No one did however beyond himself. All were content to participate in something that they had relatively no reason to be engaging in. After all, it had never been about any of them and subsequently no one particularly cared for such pieces of information. It was for stopping Kira, ending his reign of terror and allowing humanity to breathe easy again. That was the pretense all were under, or perhaps not. They never let it show. Stoic expressions remained idle as they scanned their paperwork and he, the common fool simply wondered why it was that his intentions were beyond that.

Why he alone felt the perilous need to involve himself, to become a part of something he was never meant to have leverage in. He was a petty actor and L and Light, had the main stage all to themselves. Those whom interrupted were scoffed at; and cast to the side as rejects. There was no consolation or empathy, simply repulsion at his lack.

It was to be expected however when you considered how they were indeed the glamorous leads. One's whom suffered great strife and unimaginable pains in order to maintain such a hefty position. After all, no one but they could quite so successfully pull off what they managed to. The tragedy of their tale was one that was interlaced with bloodshed, venom, inevitable betrayals and a doomed premise that his quixotic nature would resent. He was one that preferred to dwell on the more compelling natures and sides of life.

They were wholeheartedly a risky business, but one that was supplemented with the perfect façade. One that intercepted and co existed with the greater picture.

It was a beautiful ordeal really, twisted and painful. Those smiles, the one's filled to the brim with a beauty that was inexplicably chilling for their depravity and yet enlighteningly wholesome. The looks that were solely meant for each other, and, only when the entire room had been shrouded in complete stifled silence for hours. He assumed that was why they never minded the silences, although, he _always_ did.

He had this paralyzing suspicion that they could probably read each other's thoughts.  
That they were the romanticized ideal version of soul mates. Those people whom he had assumed were simply figures of romance novels. One's with steamy titles and a picturesque of embracing lovers. Yes, the ones stashed beneath his bed back home.

That thought makes him flinch slightly as he registers it.  
Knowing it's the reason for the deviation in his smile, his laughter, and it's the exemplification of why he sits here now, churning about in his stomach a proposal and a desire.

One that consisted of him wanting a bigger part.  
Preferably one with the beautiful, amber eyed lead -  
He wasn't ascertained of their dialogue, surely he couldn't keep up and withhold his place as flawlessly as L did with his dignity but dammit!

He was sure he could **improvise **his lines for Light!

He never would try though, for they would be dead once uttered and he would simply  
be showcasing more stupidity if he found it a great inclination indeed to seek out the jewel that had been captured by pallid hands. He had attempted such during one of the arguments and thus he was the subject of ridicule.

He wasn't really needed, there was already;  
The Detective, the suspect, and the renowned fool -  
Or perhaps; the brains and his beauty. His own namesake staying the same for his status never changed to anything beyond that of what was suggested by a quick, glance that lacked calculation or anything beyond that of a typical impression.

There never had been a need to analyze the thoroughly unnecessary.  
He could make coffee and that in itself was a feat.  
He was an ordinary man, with ordinary intellect whom just so happened to be a police officer and a fellow willing investigator on the Kira case.  
There was no further reasoning, or implications of anything beyond a papery exterior.

He isn't poignantly breathlessly beautiful - he never had captivated attention.  
Nor was he crudely interesting complete with delicate mannerisms.  
He wasn't Kira, a man whom had a divine plan for the world.  
Nor was he a man whom had his own mastermind plan for Kira.  
He's simply **Matsuda** and that is _all._  
Just a cop whom had always wanted to make some sort of significant difference.  
Be noticed, be wanted, be - _somebody._

He turns on his side, quietly, his glistening gaze laced with a bitterness that only dare seek solace in the comfort of solitude and the mixture of darkness. The moon a tantalizing glow outside his window as he lies in silence knowing that thoughts such as these are dreary and never make a difference.

It's simply a fleeting wish and Matsuda has many wishes after all.  
Some that have slowly manifested and composed themselves for the sake of slow masochism. Simply because he wants a shared opportunity to be able to fully comprehend their relationship. To become further entangled into the web he keeps falling out of due to nature's cruel course.

Falling out of the web is good however, the dance they share is meant for two so their technique can truly befit the situation. He knows he could never memorize so many steps in order to simply forget them once more. He summarizes that it must hurt, be painfully terrible and he always had been cheerful in demeanor. He craved happiness, but yet _sometimes, just for a moment, one moment….  
_

He entertained the thought that he would rather like to be tragic and miserable, and sacrifice it all. He didn't have much to sacrifice in the first place. It would be appeasing if only it meant he would be able to see that significant side of Light. To see the Light that was beneath the one whom blinded everyone. He being no exception to this assessment.

He wants to feel the vehemence, the ardent emotions and the knife slipping in deeper than the one that already has. He wants it to be more real than just a dream that he must assure himself he has undoubtedly fallen into for lack of a better excuse. He wants so much, so little, and it's a good thing none of it is granted. For there's truth to the rumors of his stupidity, for it is indeed wholeheartedly demanding, and immature. Thank the gods, that he will not be granted a singular desire for they would ultimately be a downfall not meant for him.

For he knows, that once again, he must fail at yet another insufferable level. It's alright though, because tomorrow things will remain as they always have been.

He will spill his cup of coffee, and he will sub consciously manage to mess the pile of papers that Mogi had painstakingly organized for L. He will fumble through conversation, avoid confrontations and simultaneously interrupt their arguments for the slight thrill of pretend.  
He will be the optimistic manager of Misa Misa, and he will completely utterly ignore the glances he catches between those two. The mutual understanding that he shouldn't understand.

Starting tomorrow he won't, he promises.  
He reverently repeats that mantra before he manages to doze off every single night.  
It hasn't succeeded yet, but, tomorrow it definitely will.  
Just because has a great feeling now, the one that he manages to derive so he falls asleep with a lopsided smile on his face.

However, even if he is somehow wrong. (As is often the case) then, well, he knows that -

The show must go on, even if he's not a part of it.  
And that's fine because maybe someday he'll really be a part of one too.

Then again, Matsuda always had been the optimistic one.


End file.
